Ava Hokuto Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Sapporo

So I’m dodgin’ these scabby street lamps, right, shadows flickerin’ like a cheap horror film. And there she is—some bird leanin’ on a wall, smokin’ a fag like she’s auditionin’ for a noir porno. “You lookin’ for a good time?” she says, voice like gravel and regret. I’m like, “Yeah, love, but I ain’t thick enough to get skinned alive!”—cackle like a hyena, I do. Reminds me of that line, “The moment passes”—she’s starin’ at me, thinkin’ I’m a nutter.

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Hokuto: Oh, it just says "For Rent." Visitors: Why the hell does it say that?! Is he a male prostitute or something? Hokuto: Heh - eh-heh - heh.

But nope! I walk out, and it starts pouring. Like, outta nowhere! I’m soaked in seconds. I’m laughing, though, because what else can you do? I duck into a little café on the corner of Kiyosato and Yatsugatake. I order a matcha latte, and the barista is super chill. We start chatting about the weather, and I’m like, “Yeah, it’s a real mood killer.”

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